Children of the Storm

sell, of course,” Helen Dougherty said.
        “Of course,” her husband agreed.
        She said, “We love this house-its old name was Seawatch, which is rather fitting when you consider it commands a view of the sea from three of its four sides-and we love the island too. It's such a quiet place, so beautiful and clean and fresh. It's like a monk's retreat, in a way, a place to escape from-from the everyday cares that plague the rest of the world.”
        But Sonya saw, as the woman hesitated in the middle of her last sentence, that Helen Dougherty did not consider Seawatch an escape from ordinary day-to-day cares… No, more likely, this lovely, wealthy woman saw it as an escape from the madman who had threatened the lives of her children. Even as she spoke, she turned her head ever-so-slightly to look upon her two children, as if she wished to be certain that they were still beside her, still close at hand, still safe and not snatched up and carted away while her attention had been elsewhere.
        Sonya looked at Bill Peterson to see if he had noticed Helen's involuntary moment of fear.
        He had.
        He winked at Sonya, smiled, as if he were trying to restore the mood of good-humored ribbing which had dominated at the table until only a few moments ago.
        She did not wink back.
        She looked at Leroy Mills, his eyes on his plate, quiet and withdrawn, shy-or guiltily avoiding Helen Dougherty. Which was it?
        Sonya looked away from Leroy Mills, feeling chilled and much too helpless in the face of such brooding evil that she sensed all about her, and she looked across the table at the bodyguard, Rudolph Saine, whom she was startled to see staring back at her. She blinked in confusion, but he did not. He stared unwaveringly, unblinkingly, his broad forehead slightly furrowed as if he were concentrating on some puzzle or other, his intensely blue eyes, like chips of wet, bright glass floating in water, locked on her own eyes, held.
        She smiled at him, even though her smile did not come naturally or even easily.
        He did not smile back.
        She looked away from him, flustered, but found herself sneaking another glance in his direction to ascertain whether or not he was still so terribly interested in her.
        He was.
        He had not looked away.
        She turned quickly toward Helen Dougherty, then looked at the woman's husband, hoping someone would say something, anything, to break this sudden, inexplicable, malevolent spell which had descended on the entire company like the tension in the air just before a major summer thunderstorm.
        “Then,” Joe Dougherty said, like a heaven-sent breath of fresh air, “tomorrow you'll relax, tour the island, get a little sun, refresh yourself. Wednesday's soon enough to begin the kids' lessons.”
        Sonya looked at the children, and found them looking shyly at her, looking up under the eyebrows, heads tilted, tentative smiles on their small, cherubic faces. As all children did when faced with a new teacher, they would be wondering what she was like, whether she would be stern or friendly, whether she would like them or be indifferent.
        “Well,” she said to Dougherty. “I really had wanted to get started as soon as possible, sir.”
        “My name's Joe,” he corrected her, amicably enough. “We go by first names around here. My father and mother were stuffy, position-conscious nouveau riche, and I won't run a house where everyone goes around in starched collars.”
        “Joe, then,” she said, smiling. “I've studied the requisites listed by the island government. I've seen the tests-or samples of them-the children will have to pass next spring in order to be officially raised in grade level. I'm really very anxious to begin.”
        He waved her into silence, not imperiously, but good-humoredly. “These scamps have had an extended vacation, and it's time they were made to work.”
        “Ahhh,” both kids said, in unison.
        “Quiet in the peanut gallery,” Dougherty said. To Sonya, he said, “However, one extra day of freedom will not set them back any further than they already are, and I'm absolutely insistent that you settle into the routine here on Distingue in a manner befitting the traditional leisurely ways of the tropics.”
        Happily, Sonya said, “Whatever you say, Joe.”
        The children cheered her.
        “Natural-born goldbrickers,”